


Put the Horse Before the Cart

by theswearingkind



Category: Bandom, Bandom - Fall Out Boy RPS, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Mail Order Brides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy stares at him for a second.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not as skanky as I thought you’d be.”</p><p>“Give me time,” Pete says.  “Wait, what?”</p><p>A mail-order bride AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put the Horse Before the Cart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the LJ Comm 7_virtues, for the prompt of "chastity." Credit for the story idea goes to [](http://kittygrenade.livejournal.com/profile)[**kittygrenade**](http://kittygrenade.livejournal.com/), who kindly shared it on [](http://bandom-abandon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bandom-abandon.livejournal.com/)**bandom_abandon**.  
> 
> Title from Feist's "1, 2, 3, 4."

Pete’s doorbell rings at 5:26 p.m. on his thirtieth birthday, roughly four hours before any of his friends are supposed to show up to help him get blitzed out of his mind.  Pete is far from opposed to pre-gaming, but four hours is kind of pushing it.  Like, even Joe’s not there yet. 

There’s a guy in a hat outside his door, a suitcase by his feet and a guitar case strapped across his back.  “Are you Pete?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Pete Wentz?”

“Still yeah,” Pete answers.

The guy stares at him for a second.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not as skanky as I thought you’d be.”

“Give me time,” Pete says.  “Wait, what?”

The guy shrugs, cracks his neck.  “Generally speaking?  People shopping for mail-order companionship are kind of skanky.”

“Oh,” Pete says, because that makes sense.  Then, “Wait, dude, _what_?”

The guy blinks.  “You’re sure you’re Pete Wentz?” he asks again.

“ _Yes_.”

The guy digs a hand into the pocket of jeans, pulls out a little slip of paper.  Reads it.  Glances up at Pete, reads the paper one more time.  “Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III?”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Pete mumbles.  “Yes.”

“I’m Patrick,” he says.  “Patrick Stump.”

“Okay?” Pete’s not deliberately trying to be obtuse or anything, but this guy is kind of freaking him out.

“Patrick _Stump_ ,” he repeats.  Pete’s complete and utter confusion must be coming through on his face, because the guy continues, “From the ad?”

“The ad?”

“…Nobody told you I was coming?”

“Was someone supposed to?”

The guy – Patrick – blinks again.  “Huh,” he says finally.  “That’s embarrassing.”

“What is?”

Patrick rubs a hand over the back of his neck.  He looks suddenly and profoundly uncomfortable, and his cheeks are more than a little pink when he says, “ _Dude_.  I’m – well.  I’m kind of your fiancé.”

“Um,” Pete says. 

*

They sit awkwardly on Pete’s couch, roughly four cushions apart, which Pete thinks is not really fair.  They’re engaged, apparently.  He should be getting a little more touch. 

“So,” Patrick says after a few minutes of silence.  “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Pete replies automatically.  Then he frowns.  “How’d you know it’s my birthday?”

“They told me.  I think – ”  He stops, and his cheeks have turned the most incredible shade of purpley-red.  “I think I’m supposed to be your present.”

*

“Dude,” Joe says, after he gets there and manages to stop laughing long enough to speak.  “Dude, it was your mom’s idea.” 

*

The phone rings several times before anyone picks up.  “Pete, sweetheart, happy birthday!” his mom chirps.

“What,” Pete says calmly, “the fuck?”

“Language, Peter!” she reprimands, voice stern even across miles of telephone line.  “He seems like a very nice young man.”

“You’ve met him?”  Pete sneaks another look around the doorjamb into the living room, where Patrick is still parked on the couch, plucking out random notes on his guitar. 

“Well.  No,” she admits.  “But his ad was lovely,” she tacks on.

“You found him on-line!”

Across the kitchen table, Joe rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, Pete, ‘cause you’ve never hooked up with someone you met on the web.  Great example.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, “someone _I_ met.  Me.  Not you, not my mom, Jesus Christ – ”

“You just seem so lonely, sweetheart,” his mom sighs.  “Your father and I worry about you.” 

“ _Dad_ was in on this?” 

“Oh, yes, honey.  It was my idea, but he’s the one who actually found the ad.  He knows how you like redheads.” 

What the fuck, seriously. 

*

It’s not like Pete thinks his friends are all sparklingly normal or whatever, because he knows they’re pretty much a bunch of freaks, but he does kind of expect them to be at least a _little_ shocked to learn that he’s, like.  Spoken for. 

“Ryan told me to let you know that he’s going to plan your wedding,” Spencer informs him, less than one step inside the apartment.  “He also said to tell you that no fursuits will be involved.”

“Dude,” William says, draping himself across Pete’s shoulders, “Petey, dude, thank _God_ you’re settling down, maybe now you can stop spreading the clap across Chicago.” 

“Congratulations, Pete, s’fucking sweet, man,” Jon drawls, grinning, “ – hey, do you mind if I smoke up in here?”

Pete is displeased, to say the least.

“Is that the little woman?” Gabe asks, giving Patrick a less-than-subtle once-over as he ducks into the bathroom.  “How little are we talking, ‘cause seriously, if you’re not interested, I could definitely – ”

“Jesus,” Pete says, “did _everybody_ know?”

It’s quiet for a second, then pretty much everybody says yeah.  Brendon, apparently, was out of the loop. 

*

If Pete _doesn’t_ marry Patrick, he thinks it’s entirely possible that he’ll lose ninety percent of his friends in the split, because Patrick is a hit. 

“You’d pick me, right?” he says mournfully.

Joe hesitates for longer than Pete thinks is entirely fair.  “Sure,” he says.  It’s unconvincing.

“Fuck you,” Pete whines.

“You could just fuck _him_ , you know,” Joe points out.  “Solve all your problems at once.  Two birds, one stone.  Ha.  Stoned.” 

Pete pouts some more.  “Fuck you all,” he repeats. 

“I think you’re stuck with him, dude,” Joe says.  “Did you hear him sing?”

Pete did, actually. 

Patrick took requests and ended up singing Prince, pausing every few seconds to let his tongue flick out to wet his mouth, biting his lower lip every so often. 

Pete found it distracting.  To say the least. 

*

“So,” Pete says later, after everyone has gone and Patrick is splayed out across his couch, the tiniest sliver of pale skin showing between the waistband of his jeans and the hem of his t-shirt.

“So,” Patrick agrees amiably, shifting so that the curve of his hip is fully exposed. 

“Did I hear you singing Saves the Day earlier?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “ _Through Being Cool_.  It’s one of my favorites.” 

As a general rule, Pete tries not to take any advice Joe gives after he’s smoked up with Jon and Spencer, but.  He really is going to lose all of his friends.  He’d probably pick Patrick over himself, too. 

Right, then. 

“So,” Pete says again and grins hugely.  “How do you feel about pre-marital sex?”

*

“You know, I really thought it was going to be a rhetorical question,” he sighs. 

“I told you he was a nice young man,” his mom says smugly.

Pete’s bow-tie is too tight, but Patrick looks hot in a tux, so he figures it’s an even trade. 


End file.
